


Without Looking Back

by the_haven_of_fiction



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: BAFTA, Drinking, F/M, tom hiddleston - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3450473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_haven_of_fiction/pseuds/the_haven_of_fiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunk Tom shows up at his girlfriend's apartment after the BAFTA's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Looking Back

I had always been the girl who was perceived as perfect.  I had always been the girl who appeared to have no acceptance of human frailty.  I never understood why we chose to define our humanity by our tendency to make the unwise choice, the unwise choice that is easy in the moment and ranges from ill-advised to devastating in the long run.  Why don’t we let our ability to make the wise choice be what defines our humanity, along with the other?  So many things that are commonly thought of as enemies, as being unable to co-exist, those are the things that I believed had to exist together.  Our will, that is what defines us.  What we choose, that is what defines us. 

The wise choice is just as much evidence of a struggle as is the unwise choice.  That was the problem.  Too many people think that there is no struggle unless you fail.  I saw in their eyes many times that judgmental gleam.

_It must not be an issue for her, it must not be a temptation if she’s never experienced it or given in._

I knew that’s what they were thinking.  I’d seen too many people walk away from me, looking back in anger.  They were wrong.

I finally had to stop allowing that to frustrate me.  I finally had to stop and accept that some believe you have to fail to learn.  I knew that wasn’t true.  It was true for the researcher in the lab, with infinite possibilities and no comparable data.  But this is about life, about the struggle to have a healthy and whole mind and heart.  The commonly held idea that you learn best by failing always bothered me.  This is flesh and blood, not experiments in biology class.  We are all made of the same metal; if you put your hand on the hot stove and it burns you, it’s going to burn me, too.  Why would I knowingly self-harm and reach for that heat with my own hand?  There was something unsettling about that to me, something that bordered on a faint kind of sadomasochism. 

One of the greatest gifts a person can give themselves is the ability to learn through the mistakes of others.  How much pain can we save ourselves!  How much suffering can we prevent!  I had learned that life is difficult enough on its own.  It will put more than an adequate amount of roadblocks in your path without you meandering away to find those boulders on your own. 

As I stood watching him, this was all swirling around in my head and I knew I had failed this time.  I had let myself make a decision, an unwise choice, because I was carried away by his charm, by his kindness, by his smile that made me crazy.  I knew we were different.  I knew.  I knew were fundamentally different in ways that weren’t complimentary; we were different in ways that were not conducive to a healthy and successful relationship.

I suppose many people would have looked at me in that moment and scoffed, thinking that I was over-reacting and being a killjoy. 

_Lighten up,_ they would tell me.  _He isn’t hurting anyone.  Someone drove him here.  He’s had an exciting night.  So what if he had one too many or even a few too many?  He’s just drunk, he’s not a murderer._

I had always been the kind of girl who hated drinking.  I hated what it did to people.  I hated how it made slaves of people.  I hated how it was used as a means of passive aggressive suicide.  I hated how people treated it so casually, the people who drank “socially” and were buzzed by this legal drug, but would scream to the heavens about the idea of legalizing marijuana for use by those who were truly suffering from ailments not of their own making.  Was it exactly the same thing?  No, but the principle still applied.

So there he was.  In the little entryway of my apartment.  Drunk.

It was irresponsible.  It was a turn off.  A huge turn off.

_You’re such a prude.  It’s his body.  He can put what he wants in it._

Yes, it is his body.  Yes, he can put what he wants in it.  But I don’t have to live with it.  We’d been dating for just a month.  Just enough time for our particular likes and dislikes to come up in conversation.  He knew I didn’t approve.  He knew how I felt.  I wasn’t rude about it.  I didn’t imply that he needed to think like me.  But that was the problem.  That was where I went wrong from the start.  His initial response was like that of most people; he automatically assumed that I grew up with an alcoholic parent or something along those lines.  I hadn’t.  Yes, there had been alcoholics in my family and that was part of why I didn’t like it.  But that fact that I grew up safe, without it in my home, that was why I felt it should be avoided; I knew how powerful its absence was.

His speech was slurred slightly and now he was trying to kiss me.  His breath reeked of it and I put my hands on his chest, on the lapels of his tuxedo that cost more than what I made in a month, and shoved him away.

“Is your driver still here?”

He was swaying on his feet and looking at me in surprise.

“No.  No driver.  I don’t want a driver.  He isn’t pretty like you.  I want you.”

_You’ll never have me.  I shouldn’t have even considered that idea._

“Give me your phone, Tom.”

He giggled and attempted to put a hand in his left pants pocket, finally succeeding on the third try, frowning a bit since he couldn’t seem to accurately locate the separation in the fabric.

“No.  You have to get out it out yourself.”

Another giggle.

“And before you ask, that is a phone in my pocket _and_  I am also veerrryyy happy to see you.”

He lurched forward, an effort to kiss me again, but I blocked him and managed to retrieve the phone.  He batted at my hand like a child and was giggling again, that joyful sound that I normally loved.  Not tonight.  Tonight it was repulsive to me.

“I love it when you scowl at me like I’m a naughty school boy.  My prim and proper teacher.”

Now his eyes moved from my face downward to lock on my breasts for several seconds before narrowing and traveling even more south.  His tongue flicked at his bottom lip.

_He’s drunk.  Don’t judge him by this._

I felt cheap.  It wasn’t flattering.  It was insulting.

_You can’t reason with a drunk man.  It’s pointless.  Send him home and deal with this tomorrow._

He was reaching for me again.  It didn’t take much effort for me to push him into the chair that was usually home to my coat and bag.  He sat down with a thud and smiled at me.

“Oh, you’re bossy when you’re drunk, teacher.”

“I’m not drunk, Tom.  You are.  And don’t call me that.”

“Yes, ma’m.”

I scrolled through his phone and found the number.

It only rang once or twice before the driver picked up.  I explained very quickly that I needed him to return and he immediately assured me that he would.  When I ended the call, I glanced at Tom and saw that his eyelids were drooping. 

Taking the coat that was hanging on the hook for once, I draped it across him like a blanket.  He blinked sleepily and tried to sit up when he saw the coat.

“Where are we going, teacher?  School trip?”

I wasn’t angry.  I was sad.  So sad.  If he was a mean drunk, this would have been a lot easier.

“No, Tom,” I answered gently.  “Nap time.”

“Oh…” he sighed and leaned back into the chair.  “I love naps.  I want to take a… _nap_ with you.”

He collapsed into giggles again and leaned his cheek against the soft blue upholstery as his eyes closed. 

I couldn’t help myself.

I reached out and smoothed his unruly hair, hating myself that I would never be able to forget the softness of his curls, the little contented murmurs that were inspired by the feel of my hand.

He was snoring when there was a soft tapping at the door.  The driver was completely understanding and assured me that I didn’t need to apologize.  We managed to wake up Tom and get back out to the car. 

“Is school over?”  he asked in confusion, when we pulled him to his feet.

  1. _It’s over._



He showed up at my door shortly after 2pm the next afternoon.  I had debated about how to proceed, dreading that conversation I knew we had to have.  Deciding to let him sleep it off, I was sitting on the couch and staring at my phone, having just worked up the courage to text him, when I heard the knock.  I had just sent a single line not a minute earlier: _Call me when you’re sober._

The sunglasses were hastily removed and there was a terrible stricken look on his face.  His phone was in one hand, as if he had just read the test.  He threw his arms around me before I could say “Hello.”

“Oh, God, I am so sorry.  I am so sorry.  Forgive me.  Please forgive me.  Was I..was I…  Did I hurt you?  Did I do something stupid?”

He held me tightly, desperately, unable to finish his thought because it was so horrible for him to contemplate. 

While I was curled up in my bed after he left the night before, crying for what seemed like hours, I had rehearsed what I was going to say over and over.  We’d only known each other for a few months, but I already knew that he wasn’t prone to loud scenes.  He wasn’t vicious, he wasn’t rude.  He was gracious, he was pleasant.  I would explain as honestly and kindly as I could.  He would understand.  There might be some tears, but he wouldn’t argue with me.  At least I imagined he wouldn’t.  It would be over quickly.  And then I could move on.  This was best.  Better to end things now, before they progressed to a deeper level and my heart was completely his.

But I was foolish.  I hadn’t considered how powerful the urge would be to soothe him, to tell him that I forgave him, that he really hadn’t done anything terrible.  Yes, he had sized me up like he was buying a steak, but I could get over that.  However, that wasn’t the point.  The point was that I couldn’t be with someone who put themselves in the position of having to ask me “Did I do something stupid?”  There were other things about his life that made me uncomfortable as well and I had deceived myself by shoving them aside, arguing that I could deal with them. 

“No, Tom.  You didn’t.”

A short exclamation of relief fell against my ear where he was pressing his face to mine. 

“I read your text as I was walking up the stairs and it made me think that I had done something unforgiveable and for the last minute, I’ve been terrified that I was going to knock on your door and be met with the furious version of you, one that I never even imagined.  I was so scared that I’d hurt you and that you were going to…that you were going to…”

He was speaking quite rapidly in the beginning, but by this point, he had slowed and pulled back, trying to observe my face.  I wouldn’t look at him voluntarily.  Now he used a hand to tilt up my chin.

“Oh, my God, you are.  You are.” 

The voice was low and rough, it was like sandpaper against my heart.

“Can we please sit down?” I asked, gesturing toward the couch.

For a moment, he gripped my upper arms with those big hands of his.

Then he tightened his fingers.

I winced.

It was a reflex.

I wasn’t afraid of him.

But that stricken expression returned to his face, filled his eyes with disgust at his actions.  His hands dropped immediately and he backed up a good two feet, almost out into the hall.  When he spoke, his voice was a whisper.

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I shouldn’t have done that.  I don’t understand.  I don’t understand.  You said I didn’t hurt you last night.  Then why are you doing this?”

“Please,” I pleaded, extended a hand to him, “please come inside so I can explain.”

Sad blue eyes looked down at my hand.  He didn’t take it, but he swiftly walked by me and went into the living room.  The big windows were letting in an abundance of sunshine, odd for this time of year in a city that was normally dreary.  The weather was one of the hardest adjustments I’d had to make.  I saw him cringe and shield his eyes for a few seconds before he turned and sat on the couch, angling himself so that he was out of direct sunlight.

  1.   That little action.  It made me remember what I had to do and why I had to do it.



_Be patient.  Be civil.  Do this right.  No regrets._

I took a deep breath to steady myself and sat down in the big armchair adjacent to the couch.

“Tom, this was a mistake from the beginning on my part.  I shouldn’t have accepted that first date.  I shouldn’t have accepted the ones that followed.  I knew that we are very different and I let myself be fooled into thinking that I could make it work.  That was done in error.  It is my fault.  I shouldn’t have done that to you.  I shouldn’t have let it go this far.”

He was swallowing repeatedly and fidgeting, his fingers playing in his scruff and journeying down his neck.

“So…you’re breaking up with me because I was drunk and _didn’t_ do anything stupid?”  He was incredulous, but I could tell that he was trying not to sound rude.

That made things worse.

“No! I…I’m doing it because…because you being drunk is just evidence that we shouldn’t be together.”

He frowned.

“That doesn’t-“

“No, listen to me, please,” I interrupted, beginning to feel like I was losing my strength and that all my rehearsing was for naught.

He was silent.

“Tom, I know that the way I live and the way I think about many things are different from most of the world.  I accept that.  I don’t expect everyone around me to automatically make the same choices I have made.  I don’t go into relationships with the hope of changing someone.  I thought that you and I had enough in common that would make the differences livable.  But that was foolish of me, so foolish; because unlike many people who only think about what they want in a partner, what they can live with, I have spent a lot of time figuring out what I _can’t_ live with.”

I don’t know if he realized he was doing it, but he was nodding.

“And the person I saw last night, I can’t live with that person, even though he didn’t do anything to directly harm me.  It isn’t about the fact that you didn’t hurt me, it’s…it’s because I can’t live with someone who ever has to _ask_ me if they did something stupid.”

He blinked and the fire seemed to leave his eyes.

I wanted to add that I couldn’t respect that kind of person, but I didn’t have to.  He did it for me.

“And you don’t respect the man from last night, do you.”

He knew I didn’t have to answer him.

I was blinking back tears.  He stood up a little too quickly and cursed under his breath.  Walking slowly around the room, he turned to face me.

“The way you’ve explained this, it seems pointless to ask you for another chance…because it isn’t about another chance, is it.”

Again, I didn’t have to answer him.  He seemed to be thinking aloud, verbally expressing what he was processing without letting it run through his mind first. 

“It’s because you think we are different to the point of being incompatible.”

That time, I nodded.  I was relieved that he understood what I was saying.  He paced the length of the room a few times without saying anything. 

“I drank last night because all I could think about, all through the red carpet, all though the awards, was that I wanted you to be next to me.  I didn’t ask you because we’ve only been officially dating for a month and I swore to myself that I would do all I can to protect whomever was brave enough to accept me and my life.  I thought if I had a few, I would forget that I was feeling like part of me was missing and I would then be able to enjoy myself at the party.”

His face softened when he saw the tears dripping off my face.

“But that doesn’t matter, either, does it.”

Moving to sit back down on the end of the couch that was closest to me, he reached for my hand and I let him take it.

“You’re probably used to people ranting at you during a time like this.  They tell you that you’re being unreasonable, that you expect too much, that you are unforgiving and unwilling to give people another chance.”

His perception was both salt and a balm to the wound I had inflicted upon myself.

“I fully admit that for about five seconds, I wanted to do just that.  I didn’t because I remembered what you said last week at dinner.  You said that we make unwise decisions in the moment when we are hurt because we would rather feel anger than pain, we’d rather feel the weight of that anger than the weight of responsibility.  You’re right.  I’d rather be angry right now than feel this.”

His voice was thick with emotion and he had to stop for a moment.

“I know how you feel about drinking and I should have respected that.  I simply wasn’t in my right mind and…”

A terribly sad understanding dawned across his face.

“…and I guess that just proves your point doesn’t it.  I am sorry.  So sorry.  Please forgive me.”

“I do forgive you, Tom, I do,” I blurted out, squeezing his hand and wiping my face.

“I believe that you do.  But I also believe that you are a strong woman who knows her own mind and that fact doesn’t mean that you expect too much.  I knew from the first day I met you that you hold yourself to a very high standard and it isn’t unreasonable for you to want that in return from someone.”

I was bewildered at how he was responding to me.  No one had ever understood like this, or if they had, they hadn’t bothered to tell me.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t be that person for you.  I wish I were, because I think I was fa-“

He halted and looked away.

“I was quite taken by you in a way that I haven’t been with anyone else in such a short time.”

That was all I could handle.

I covered my face with my hands, sobbing like a child.  I felt his arms around me and he pulled me up from the chair, guiding my head to rest against the soft cotton of his jumper. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I gasped, “I’m sorry for putting you through this.”

His lips brushed across my hair.

“So am I.”

He held me for a long minute and then walked out of the apartment without looking back at me.


End file.
